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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28161873">just a little hush</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky/pseuds/quantumducky'>quantumducky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comfort No Hurt, Corsetry, M/M, Mutual Pining, Season/Series 03, Touch-Starved</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:27:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,630</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28161873</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky/pseuds/quantumducky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon's injured hand is still giving him trouble. Martin helps him finish dressing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>122</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Rusty Quill Secret Santa 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>just a little hush</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/gifts">silvercolour</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>me looking at this request: i am going to create a fic that is so tender,</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>[Martin, would you come into my office, please? If you aren’t too busy, I could use your help.]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin was happy to admit, when Jon texted him first thing in the morning, that he wasn’t doing anything even slightly important. Wasn’t like he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything important to do these days, what with his job being literally evil and the world possibly ending soon either way. He spent a lot of his time staring past his desk and worrying, and he spent a lot of his worrying on Jon. Seeing he needed his help badly enough to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>ask</span>
  </em>
  <span> for it, Martin was standing up before he’d finished reading the message.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cracked the door open to announce his presence, but he froze as soon as he saw Jon. He was sitting at his desk shirtless- well, not, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>really,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was in his vest, but his actual </span>
  <em>
    <span>shirt</span>
  </em>
  <span> was folded up in front of him, so Martin felt pretty well justified in needing to pull back for a second and compose himself before he could finish opening the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Jon didn’t seem to notice his aborted entrance. Even when Martin came into the room for real, he didn’t look up. He was zoning out a bit, staring at his hands resting on the desk as he massaged the palm of the still-healing one with his other thumb. Martin really hoped the fact that he was getting dressed in his office didn’t mean he’d been here all night, but he didn’t have </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> hope of that. At least it probably also meant he’d slept at some point. Besides, the rest of the world had proven itself pretty unsafe for him lately, so… yeah, maybe Martin couldn’t complain all that much if he decided to just stay put in the archives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed that line of thought away and cleared his throat. Jon’s head snapped up as if he hadn’t realized he was there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Martin.” There was relief in his voice. Maybe Martin should’ve texted him back before walking into his office and startling him. “Thank you for… for coming. Close the door behind you, please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin did as he asked. It wasn’t likely that anyone would randomly decide to stop by for a chat, considering… everything, but he twisted the lock as well, just to be safe. Wouldn’t do anything for most of what they had to worry about, but at least it could give them some privacy. “What, uh, what was it you needed me for?” He saw Jon open his mouth, only to look away and close it again, looking irritated at nothing in particular in the way that meant something was flustering him. Martin hazarded a guess as to what it was. “Does it… have something to do with the reason your shirt is on your desk and not on </span>
  <em>
    <span>you?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I mean, can’t imagine it’s easy doing all those buttons, with the, the hand and all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon scrunched his face up in a way Martin couldn’t help but find sort of cute and searched for words. “Sort of. Not- exactly. You’re partly right, it’s just not the buttons, it’s- it’s this.” With his good hand, he reached </span>
  <em>
    <span>under</span>
  </em>
  <span> the shirt and held up another piece of clothing, one that had been halfway concealed so that Martin hadn’t known it was there at all. For the second time in a few minutes, his thoughts stopped dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is- sorry, is that-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a corset,” Jon interrupted, not quite snapping. Martin didn’t mean to </span>
  <em>
    <span>embarrass</span>
  </em>
  <span> him about it or anything, it was just- so distant from anything he’d expected to happen today. Or ever. “It’s- it helps my back. I have… abysmal posture, I don’t know if you’ve noticed. So it’s- it’s practical.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, absolutely, that- yeah, that makes sense,” Martin said quickly. His face heated, though he wasn’t sure how much of that was shame and how much was the… general concept of Jon in a corset. He tried to push both out of his head, in the interest of not making it worse. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be weird about it. Just… I don’t know, surprised? I’ve never really seen anyone wear one of those before.” He walked over next to Jon and reached out to feel the sturdy fabric. “How does it, uh, work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon cleared his throat and stood up. “Right.” He looked a bit awkward, but seemed determined to push on as if nothing about this was unusual. “So- it clasps together in the front, here…” He settled it loosely around his waist and attempted to demonstrate, wincing as he was forced to use both hands to get the two pieces hooked into each other correctly. Martin stepped into his space as if to try and do it </span>
  <em>
    <span>for</span>
  </em>
  <span> him before he could stop himself. Luckily, it was clear Jon knew what he was doing- certainly better than Martin did- and was already finished before the impulse could carry him any further than standing a little too close. “That part is called the busk,” Jon continued, not appearing to register a difference. “I can still manage that, as you can see, but…” He gestured to his bandaged hand and sort of… scowled at it. “Can’t exactly tighten the laces like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And- and that’s what you want me to do?” Martin’s voice must have gone up a full octave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um. Yes.” Looking up, Jon finally took in how visibly flustered he’d become. “I mean- only- only if you’re, uh, comfortable doing that, of course, I know it’s not exactly… I, I wouldn’t be asking if I thought I could do it myself, or, or if I had any other…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Martin hurried to tell him. This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jon,</span>
  </em>
  <span> deliberately trusting him to help with something so private, after everything he’d been through lately- he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to throw that away with his own inability to act normal about it. “I, I don’t mind. Really. Just- not what I was expecting to do this morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head in vague agreement. “No. No, I suppose it… wouldn’t be.” He still looked sort of uncertain. Martin didn’t want to be responsible for him looking like that if he could help it, so he walked around to stand behind him and stared down the rather intimidating crisscross of laces at his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, so… how do I do this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon explained, in a surprisingly quiet and not entirely steady voice, the proper way to tighten the laces to make sure they would come out even. Martin had the idea pretty quickly, but he encouraged Jon to keep talking anyway, hoping it would help him feel a bit more comfortable. He didn’t seem much surer of himself in this odd situation than Martin was, and that understanding turned out to be the nudge Martin needed to stop hovering behind him, too worried about screwing up to move, and just start </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing</span>
  </em>
  <span> it already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t going to let himself overthink it. This didn’t have to be weird or, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything, just because he happened to be lacing his boss-slash-friend, whom he happened to have feelings for, into a corset, and it might have been the most they’d interacted in months. Just because Jon’s soft running instructions trailed off as if he’d forgotten he was speaking at all when Martin started to actually touch him, and then he reacted like he was shocked every single time, like he was familiar with the concept of being touched by another person only in theory. His narrow shoulders rose and fell steadily in time with deliberate breaths, but the rhythm stuttered at every moment of contact. Martin knew he should leave it alone, try not to push it, and yet he couldn’t help experimenting a little. He laid his palm flat on Jon’s upper back for stability next time he gave the laces a tug, and the man actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>leaned back</span>
  </em>
  <span> against him, without giving any sign he was aware of it, to the point where Martin worried he’d fall when he needed to move that hand again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if Martin needed to be any more painfully aware of how vulnerable Jon could look any time he dared to let down his defenses- and, even more, how vulnerable he literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>was,</span>
  </em>
  <span> considering how frequently he managed to get hurt and abducted on top of already being a chronically exhausted twig of a person. It was amazing, really, the amount of deliberate trust it must have taken him to let anyone this close, after everything he’d so recently been through. It hadn’t escaped his notice how much Jon flinched at these days, locking himself away from everyone as much as possible in the relative safety of his office. And even with all that, he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>asked</span>
  </em>
  <span> Martin to be here, in his space, touching him and all. And he was still leaning into his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jon?” he said quietly. “Is everything okay?” He hated to interrupt the moment, but if Jon was using him for support because he wasn’t feeling well, he didn’t want him to- pass out, or something, just because he’d been too pleased with the contact to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Jon sounded like he’d been about a mile away, but he didn’t sound ill, thank goodness. Martin stopped himself from dwelling on the idea that he felt safe enough in his presence to space out like that. “Yes, I, I’m fine. Just… a bit tired. Sorry.” He shook his head as if to rouse himself and straightened up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin patted him absently, only realizing when he felt Jon shiver that touching him </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> probably wasn’t going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>help.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Well, I’m almost done here,” he assured him, “and then you can sit down.” It wasn’t like this took more than a few minutes, even with inexperience slowing him down. It just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> much longer than that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon nodded and adjusted his posture again needlessly. “Right,” he sighed. He really did sound tired. Martin was reconsidering his assumption that he’d slept last night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was tempting to draw it out a bit. Appreciate the moment for as long as he could make it last. He didn’t, though, at least not consciously. It would have felt like a betrayal of Jon’s trust, in some small way, to let him think he couldn’t work any faster when he really just wanted a bit more time to admire him. He had enough trouble convincing himself it wasn’t wrong to be admiring him in the first place without adding </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> in. He just- looked very nice, in that certain way of his, and… well, obviously </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> would look </span>
  <em>
    <span>especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice in a corset. It wasn’t tight enough to make him look different, exactly, but… more defined, in a subtle way? And even ignoring </span>
  <em>
    <span>that,</span>
  </em>
  <span> there was the closeness, and Jon finally opening up, and the ability to </span>
  <em>
    <span>help</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a concrete way, and Martin just… didn’t want to let the moment end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did, though. He tied a bow and smoothed his hand pointlessly over the laces, and then he stepped back. “Finished,” he said, which was equally pointless, given that he knew Jon had felt every step of the process, but he felt like he had to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>something.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It might have been only his imagination that Jon shifted to meet his touch again and let out a nearly inaudible sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Either way, he shook himself when the contact was broken and moved to start putting on his shirt. “Thank you, Martin.” His voice was still soft and vulnerable, and he cleared his throat and tried to sound more confident. Martin wasn’t entirely buying it. “I know that was a- an </span>
  <em>
    <span>unusual</span>
  </em>
  <span> request, so I… appreciate your going along with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The process of buttoning his shirt was, as Martin had suspected, rather painstaking with only one good hand, but it didn’t look like he was going to ask for help with that. Martin sort of wanted to offer anyway. He also sort of wanted to stand there and watch the neat shape of him beneath his shirt, mesmerized by the thought that his own hands had done that. He didn’t allow himself to do either of those things, of course; he just backed up a little to give Jon space and answered, “Yeah- yeah, of course. Any time.” Which, once he heard himself say it, sounded a bit ridiculous. As if there was any realistic chance this would happen </span>
  <em>
    <span>twice.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They both stood in the quiet until Jon was finished dressing. Martin was afraid to say anything else and break whatever this half-comfortable tension settling over them was. He considered slipping out of the office without addressing it, just to save them both the potential awkwardness- but before he could try it, Jon spoke up again, soft and uncertain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could you- that is, would you mind…” He swallowed and turned so that he was half facing away, standing perfectly straight. Maybe that last bit shouldn’t have been a surprise, but now Martin couldn’t stop thinking of every previous time he’d seen Jon with unusually good posture and assumed he was just trying especially hard to project academic competence, wondering how many of those times he’d been completely wrong. Meanwhile, Jon gathered his courage and started again. “I, I don’t want to keep you, but before you go, could you- make sure everything is still smooth, i-in the back? Just- just…” The rest of his words died half-formed, and he gestured to his back with a hand fluttering with nerves. He didn’t look at Martin once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he managed. “Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know what he thought he was doing, but he didn’t have it in him to refuse Jon. Not when he was like this, offering his fragile self into Martin’s hands and trusting him. He was certain the lacing at Jon’s back was still as neat as it had ever been, and he was certain Jon knew that, too. He walked up behind him anyway. He smoothed a flat hand from Jon’s shoulderblades down to the small of his back, as firmly and slowly as he dared, and Jon sighed and- kind of sagged against the pressure. It was a strong enough reaction to make him stumble a bit, and Martin caught him on instinct. Jon didn’t really need catching. He had his balance back almost immediately. That didn’t stop him from staying just like that, a few inches away from being actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>held,</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a solid five seconds before he shook his head and pulled away. Martin stopped himself from pulling him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon blinked and looked up, with that stubborn set to his face that meant he was refusing to be embarrassed. “All- all good, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All good,” Martin echoed. His hands searched for something else to hold and ended up twisting together in front of him. “Are you… good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Yes, I…” He hesitated and looked over at his desk. “I should probably…” Gesturing to the scattered mess of work he was presumably intending to do, he trailed off. It seemed like he wasn’t willing to finish the sentence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They couldn’t very well stand there all day, though, even if they might want to, so Martin decided to pretend he’d managed to say something that actually, you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything, and responded to that. “I’ll… let you get to it, then.” He got himself to the door before he could change his mind, but paused right before actually opening it. “If- if you need anything else, just tell me. Anything at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon wasn’t going to take that offering, not the way Martin meant it, but he let it hang in the air for a long moment before nodding. “…I’ll see you later, Martin. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
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